


Just for Appearances

by ardentmuse



Series: Harry Hart Imagines [1]
Category: Kingsman (Movies)
Genre: Drinking, F/M, Flirting, Fluff, Kingsman!Reader, Kissing, Light Angst, Seduction, Spies & Secret Agents
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-11
Updated: 2019-02-11
Packaged: 2019-10-26 03:02:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17737742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ardentmuse/pseuds/ardentmuse
Summary: Undercover at a charity ball, you are set to seduce a target with Harry, whom you love, as your backup, a role which he may not be able to handle.





	Just for Appearances

“What do you see, Kay?” Merlin asked you through your earrings. You were performing a proper waltz with Galahad as you were both undercover at one of the largest charity events of the season. A wealthy oil tycoon, Lachlan Marlowe, was said to be in attendance, looking to set up a relationship with the Prime Minister in order to skirt environmental regulations. The agency believed there might be something even more elicit going on between the two men, so you’ve been sent in to investigate.

You were often sent on these kinds of missions, the ones that involved men who had a very clear preference for engaging beautiful women. You disliked that your appearance was often the first things considered before assigning you work, but if it allowed you to stop the bad guys, then you’d continue to accept it. What really made you a good agent, everyone knew, was your charisma and charm, as you could create trust with even the most fickle of targets. You were a damned good liar, and had gotten your fellow agents out of quite a few messes without an ounce of bloodshed. Tonight should be very much the same, with words and flirtation as your only utilized weapons.

In order to draw the eye of Marlowe, you wore something quite showier than your normal wardrobe. Your dress was blood red velvet, spaghetti strapped, with quite the slit revealing a good portion of your leg, up to your mid-thigh. You were slightly uncomfortable, feeling more exposed than you really desired. But you knew you had to keep an air of confidence. Marlowe was a leg man, your research had told you, so you needed to confidently work this dress if you wanted him to approach you. And that was always the better way. You seemed much less suspicious if you weren’t the one to seek him out. Thankfully, Harry’s soft hand holding yours and his fingers lightly pressed into your lower back gave you strength and a sense of safety.

That was the other reason you disliked these missions. You were desperately in love with your dance partner. Had been for a while, if you really thought about it. There was that one time, six months ago, when you had kissed on a mission. You were acting as husband and wife and needed to “keep up appearances,” or so Harry had told you afterwards in your hotel room, when he proceeded to apologize profusely and beg your forgiveness, promising he’d avoid doing it again in the future unless explicitly necessary. You had nodded along to him while he offered these words, but in reality his words were breaking your heart. That kiss had lit a fire in you that before had just been kindling. When he had said he wanted to speak about your kiss, you had secretly hoped he’d acknowledge feeling the same, so when he proceeded to treat it like his biggest regret, you felt a level of rejection you hadn’t since high school. You knew how silly it was. You were both professionals. But somewhere, after so many missions having one another’s back, late nights talking about your interests while huddled in a car on a stakeout or in a research room at headquarters, mornings waking up in the hospital ward with his hand gently caressing your own, you had managed to fall deeply in love.

You still felt a tinge of heartache as he held you this way, close and intimate, like you mattered to him. You knew it was all a front, simply a matter of appearances. But you desperately wanted it to be real and couldn’t help but enjoy it. Deep down, you hated that you allowed yourself to still be so affected by him after he had so blatantly made his intentions known. 

“Nothing yet,” you informed Merlin after a moment of scanning the dance floor for Marlowe.

Harry’s grip on your hand tightened as he pulled you in closer by the waist. Your heart rose and sank in quick succession.

“Don’t be too sure of that, Kay. His eyes are on you.”

You could tell Harry was looking towards the cocktail tables behind you where many attendees were engaging in idle chit-chat.

You felt Harry turn and dip you. You leaned your head and chest down with his guiding hand, bringing your knee and thigh up and out of the slit, just as you knew Harry intended. This was about putting on a show for Marlowe, one that inevitably would lead to him approaching you at the bar or following you as you went to powder your nose.

You expected Harry to remain upright, supporting you as you dipped down, but he didn’t. His back foot was stretched out with yours, his knee bent, and his lips just inches from your face. You felt his breath on your lips, his eyes dark and intent on yours. It was like time stood still. You felt a tension between the two of you that made your blood pressure rise, something electric in his face as his gaze turned towards your mouth. After a beat, Harry lifted you again, faster than you would have liked. His hand raised a few millimeters off your back, as though your skin had scorched him somehow. You felt that telltale pang of rejection all over again. It seemed like you revolted him, like he hardly wanted to touch you at all. He was no longer making eye contact with you either, but instead was looking over your shoulder and observing the crowd as you resumed your dance.

“Don’t get too familiar there, Galahad. We need him to think I’m single,” you say, hoping to get even the slightest response out of him. He still refused to return his attention to you.

Instead, he cleared his throat. “I think not. The woman he was just hitting on has a ring on her finger. I believe he likes them married.”

“Oh,” you uttered, unable to hide the sadness in your tone as he confirms he’s only showing you any attention for the sake of the mission. You couldn’t help but think that if you weren’t required to be partnered together so often, that he’d never talk to you at all.

“His eyes are still on you,” Harry says, “At the end of this song, I’ll move to the patio. I’ll still be in range should you need my assistance.”

His hand still hovered over the small of your back. As the song ended, he moved away completely kissing your hand to maintain appearances as he parted from you. You felt the heat on the back of your hand where his lips had been as though it were branding you. You brought your other hand on top of it, simultaneously preserving it and rubbing it away. You couldn’t decide which was your actual intention.

As you reached the bar, you placed your hands on the counter and leaning forward to order another of the party’s signature cocktail. You felt a presence beside you. A hand came up and grazed yours, donning far too much jewelry for a man of any age, but especially for this man, as it only accentuated the hair all over his knuckles. He began to pet the back of your hand right where Harry had planted his lips only moments earlier, polluting that sacred part of your flesh.

You looked up to meet the grey eyes of a middle-aged, slightly balding man. He wouldn’t be so unattractive if it weren’t for the cocky sneer on his face. He had a nice strong jaw and muscular build. His face was hard and masculine, such a contrast to the soft, approachable masculinity that you had grown accustom to with Harry.

“Gorgeous, I couldn’t help but notice your wonderful moves earlier. They were wasted though on that man of yours. Maybe I could show you how a real man spins his woman on the dance floor?”

You scoffed immediately at Marlowe’s line, both because it was in character for you to not succumb to his advances too quickly, but also because it was just so ridiculous how he thought he understood how a real man should behave. A real man, a gentleman, would never call a woman gorgeous so he didn’t have to bother learning her name.

“No thanks. I prefer men who don’t presume,” you said, taking a sip of the beverage just recently handed to you, forcing Marlowe’s hand to drop from your own.

“Presume?”

“Yes. You didn’t even ask me my name. And you claimed that if I said yes to your offer that I’d be ‘your woman’, like some sort of property. Not to mention you touched me without my consent. I could show you how to treat women with some respect. Maybe then I’d consider a dance,” you watched his face move from angry to smug and you knew you had got it. Step one: seem uninterested. He was a man who loved the chase, who wanted to fight, so you were going to bring the fight right to him.

You turned to walk away as he grabbed your wrist and spun you back towards him. He immediately places a hand around your waist and pulled your flush to him. It was not lost on you just how much the position mimicked the one you were in with Harry just a few minutes ago, only much more sexually charged.

“Feisty. I’m intrigued. So, tell me, how would I start to treat you with enough respect to earn this dance, eh?” as he spoke he began to sway with you slightly, pushing his luck.

Step two: allow for physical contact. You turned your head to the side to continue to sip on your drink. “First, you ask me my name.”

“So what’s your name, gorgeous?”

“Vanessa.”

“And do you have a last name, Vanessa?” His hand on your waist dropped dangerously low, his forearm now resting on your hipbone, fingers tickling your ass cheek.

“Not that you need to know,” you said, dropping your drink onto the bar so you could place your hand on his shoulder, pulling gently at the collar of his jacket. Step three: return physical contact.

Marlowe chuckled. “Are you trying to turn me on, gorgeous? Because if so, it’s definitely working.”

“Maybe,” you said, dropping your voice a little as if telling a secret.

“And don’t you want to know my name?” he asked.

“Oh, I know who you are,” you said. Step four: stroke his ego. Every part of this seduction was going so smoothly, you didn’t find it difficult to smile at him. “You have quite the reputation, Mr. Marlowe.”

“Really?”

“A rather positive reputation among the women. One that has me quite curious, if I must admit,” you try your best to blush as you move your hand from his collar to the base of his neck, playing with the hairs there. Step five: imply interest in sex.

“Oh, patience, my dear girl. I can certainly allow you to explore whether those rumors are true, but not right now. Sadly I have to stay at this chicken-shit event for a few more hours.”

“What’s keeping you?” you asked, pulling away slightly, your hand in his hair brushing down his shoulder and arm as you returned to leaning on the bar, lifting your leg ever so slightly into his view as you rested your heal on the footrest of the bar stool.

“Well, if you really must know, the Prime Minister and I are quite close.” He said it with a level of pomp that let you know he thought he was hot stuff for having some money and power.

“Really? You must be quite the influencer to catch the ear of that man,” you twirled your hair and swayed your leg in a way that you knew appeared absentminded. Marlowe leaned over almost instantly to place his hand on your exposed thigh, as high as the slit would allow him.

“Quite the influencer. He requested I meet him in an hour to discuss the latest I can do for him. Do you think you’ll still be around after 11? I would love to show you those dance moves from the comfort of my hotel room.” His hand was now stroking even higher under your skirt, his first knuckles no longer visible. You did your best to not show your disgust on your face

For the first time in quite a bit, you heard Merlin’s voice in your ear. “Harry?” he said, his tone less question and more warning. You wondered what Harry could be doing to anger Merlin. Normally they were in an almost unspoken synchronization.

“I can be. Where should I meet you? Is you meeting close?”

“It’s just upstairs. I can give you my key if you’d like. The penthouse suite. You can head up early, get comfortable, order room service if you’d –”

Marlowe was cut off by a voice behind you calling your name. Well, Vanessa, at the moment.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t realize I was interrupting something. Vanessa, would I be able to have a word with you quickly?”

But you only heard part of what Harry was saying, because Merlin was screaming in your ear as well. “Goddammit. I told you, Galahad. I told you. I knew you wouldn’t be able to handle this mission and you didn’t listen to me. She was right there. She had it. We just needed to get into that hotel room but you can’t keep your emotions—“ Harry had reached up to push your hair back, turning the base of your earring in the process, cutting you off from whatever Merlin was saying.

“Um, yes,” you said to Harry, before turning to Marlowe. “It has been a pleasure.”

“The pleasure is all mine, gorgeous. My offer still stands. Come find me later.”

You only nod because Harry is already pulling you with him to the patio.

Once you made your way out of earshot of everyone, you immediately pulled yourself from Harry’s grasp. “What the hell! I was this close in there and you had to come in—“ you spit until you looked at his face. Harry was on the verge of tear, eyes glistening, lip quivering, brow furrowed. You’d never seen him so dejected.

“Oh my, Harry, what happened?” you asked, reaching up to his face. He leaned into your touch, his eyes never leaving yours.

“You happened, Y/N. You came and you changed me and I just can’t do this anymore.” He closed his eyes and sighed.

You weren’t processing what he was saying. Your brain had ceased to work when his cheek sought out your palm like it needed nothing else in this world.

He continued with closed eyes, “I can’t stand by while men treat you as a piece of meat, as less than you deserve. I can’t dance with you and pretend to not enjoy having you so close to me. I can’t call you darling and not mean it. I can’t pretend to not be in awe of your brilliance and charm, your wit and your beauty every damned day I am forced to interact with you. And I certainly can’t hold back the urge to kiss you just once –“

You did register that last sentence. “Harry, you’ve kissed me before,” you said through your confusion.

“And you hated it!” he snapped through gritted teeth, eyes fully open and upon you now.

“What?” you questioned as you pull your hand away from his face.

Harry took a deep breath, “You hated it. When I kissed you a few months ago, I pulled away and your face was completely blank, like you were trying to block out the whole experience. I knew immediately I had made a mistake, but I haven’t been able to forget it. I had wanted that moment for so long. I had wanted it to be special. But I took advantage of the opportunity and…”

He trailed off. It was obvious to you what we wanted to say. It was exactly what he had said to you that night after the kiss itself. It was a mistake, a mistake to never be repeated. But only now did you understand what he had meant. It was a mistake for your first kiss to be during a mission. It was a mistake for him to put his feelings on the table. It was a mistake for him to assume you might have felt the same way. But he had been wrong on all accounts.

You smiled, a strong pure smile, different from any you had offered this whole night. “Harry,” you took a step closer, reaching again for his cheek. This time he placed his hand on top of yours. “I didn’t react to your kiss because that hotel owner needed to believe we had kissed thousands of times before.

“Harry,” you stroked his cheek to make sure his attention was on you. Tears were falling over the edge of his eyes now. You felt yours watering as well. “That kiss was the single best experience of my adult life. And when you told me that you wanted it to never happen again, you broke my heart.”

“Can I make it up to you?” Harry asked, taking the hand on your cheek and pulling it off his face, interlacing it with his. He placed his other hand back on your waist in your perfect dance pose. You liked this much better than Marlowe’s version. This was safe and comfortable. Here you were respected and cared for and given space to make your own decisions.

You laughed, “Are you sure that’s what you want?”

“The only thing I want is you.” He began your dance again, though you could hardly hear the music through the door.

You wiped the tear trails from his cheeks. “I want you, too.” You smiled at him, which he returned, tightening his grip on your waist.

“I loved dancing with you earlier. Had to pull myself away before it overwhelmed me. You were smiling and laughing until I dipped you. What had made you so upset?”

You blushed now, realizing how silly you both have been for months. “I had thought you were going to kiss me when we dipped. I was angry at myself for wanting something you had already told me I couldn’t have.”

“I had wanted to kiss you then. Desperately so.” And with that, he dipped you again, the same low close dip that had sent your mind wandering just a half hour earlier.

“May I kiss you now?” he asked.

“I mean, we are on a mission. Are you sure it is not a mistake?” your smirk and tone were clear.

“Definitely not,” he offered.

With that, you leaned up and kissed him, deep and slow, allowing your tongue to gently run across his lower lip. You moved your mouths together in a unified dance, your movement slow and intentional, as if trying to taste the hidden joys the other had to offer. As you kiss came to its natural conclusion, Harry pulled you both back into your standing positions, flushed and hearts pounding.

You smiled at the man you loved. He reached up to tuck you hair behind your ear, moving his fingers into your hair with ease. He pulled you into a kiss, this time one he led, much more hot and needy than the one you had just exchanged. Every part of you tingled as his fingers massaged your scalp, his breath lightly caressing your face. As he pulled back, he turned on your earring and put back on his glasses, which you had failed to notice him pocket.

Immediately, you heard Merlin yelling, “You promised me, Galahad. You promised me you wouldn’t get jealous. And now you’ve gone and messed this whole thing up—“

“I stole his keycard,” Harry said, as though it were the most casual fact in the world, “While Y/N was saying goodbye to Marlowe, I swiped it from his pocket. I wanted to make sure Kay didn’t have to get any closer to that sleaze ball she already had.”

“You just wanted her to get closer to you then?” Merlin said, still clearly very angry.

“Added bonus,” Harry said, taking your hand and leading you to the elevators that led to the hotel rooms. “And Merlin, I’m sorry,” he said, looking longingly at you, then down at your intertwined fingers, feeling like it was the most natural thing in the world now that neither of you were pulling away, “I won’t have any problem with these missions moving forward.”

He pulled your hand up to kiss your knuckles, just as they elevator arrived.


End file.
